


Ice Pilots

by spycandy



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, Ice Skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-22
Updated: 2011-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:37:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spycandy/pseuds/spycandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the prompt "There are things I haven't tried, I suppose I could be not good at one of them. Something Douglas tries and isn't brilliant at - or even slightly good." And that thing is... ice skating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Pilots

With his attention on the pre-flight checks, Martin only vaguely noticed how gingerly Douglas settled into his seat on the flight deck, but he did hear the pained hiss when his first officer reached upwards for one of the more distant switches, and he glanced across at the man sitting beside him with a frown of concern.

“It’s nothing,” snapped Douglas, before Martin had even asked a question. However, the high-pitched yelp and the burst of swearing prompted by Douglas’ knee knocking very slightly against the control panel soon put paid to that claim.

“There’s nothing wrong with either your shoulder or your knee then?”

“Or my coccyx,” grumbled Douglas, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Absolutely no bruising there. Oh fine. You remember how I said there might, possibly, be something I hadn’t tried yet, that I might turn out not to be good at?”

“Yes. Oh! Yes, really?” The syrupy sympathy on Martin’s final word was anything but convincing.

“My daughter insisted on a trip to the ice rink during her weekend visit. How is all of that undignified falling over supposed to be a fun activity? Even my bruises have bruises.”

“Ah well, if you had to be bad at something, at least it’s something easily avoided. It isn’t as if ice skating is one of those things that comes in handy for much.”

Douglas groaned and put his head in his hands. “You’d think, wouldn’t you? But Ally loved it. She’s already sent me two emails pleading to go again on her next visit. I can’t take it. She looks up to me Martin, and all I can do is cling to the side for dear life – and even then it’ll be a miracle if I don’t break anything next time.”

“I could...” Martin hesitated. “I could give you a few pointers, if you like. We’ve got a stopover in Bern coming up – there’s a huge rink there.”

“Martin? Hold on, are you telling me that you... that you _figure skate_?”

How? Just how had Douglas’ confession of ineptitude come around to mocking Martin’s weird and completely useless skill already? But yes, he’d spent enough childhood Saturday mornings being dragged along to the ice rink by his big sister who had bribed him with toy planes and Biggles books into being her partner for dance practice and tests. He doubted that he could remember all of the steps for a fiesta tango any more, but he could surely still manage a few basics.

“Ice dance, actually,” he said, staring straight forward at the sky to avoid seeing Douglas’ smirk. “Look, do you want my help to wow your daughter, or not?”

There was a moment’s pause, Gertie’s engine roar filling the tense silence.

“Yes,” said Douglas, through firmly gritted teeth. “Yes, please.”

>>>

“That’s right... look at me, not the ice – the weight of your great big head will just tip you forwards. And tiny steps... Good. Keep your knees nice and soft... There you go!”

Martin slalomed backwards slowly across the big rink, coaxing his first officer further away from the barrier. Douglas had a tight grip on both of his hands, through which Martin could feel a distinct trembling – and he could hardly be shivering with cold, given the three fleece jumpers he had opted to wear as padding.

He really was bad at this. From Martin's recollection, plenty of complete beginners would turn up at public sessions and would soon be zooming around the ice, all toe-pushing and terrible form but at least enjoying the exhilarating feeling of cold air rushing past their faces.

Douglas was not one of those people. He seemed barely able to keep his feet beneath him and his first attempts to move under his own power had pitched him as alarmingly off-balance as a Disney deer.

It was a little endearing actually, not least because the man was willing to put himself through such a humiliating and potentially painful experience for his daughter's sake.

“If you tell anyone about this...” threatened Douglas.

Martin gave him a rueful smile. “Don't worry, I'll keep our plans for 'Blades of Glory'-style pairs victory at the Winter Olympics just between us for now, if you will. Now, just glide on two feet for a moment and then I want you to try to stop by pushing your heels outwards like a snowplow.”

“Like skiing. I'm good at skiing.”

“Of course you are,” Martin couldn't help enjoying the rare opportunity to patronise Douglas. “Okay, now stop.”

Douglas staggered to a halt and would have pitched straight forwards if he hadn't been holding on to Martin's hands. They repeated the process a few more times, then Martin made Douglas hold his hands just above his own outstretched palms instead. “Only grab hold if you need to, but I'll be right here.”

Half an hour later, Douglas could make steady, if not elegant, progress going forwards all on his own and could stop, so long as he wasn't going too fast. He had fallen twice, but seemed a little more confident once Martin had shown him how to get back onto his blades safely. And he had at least grasped the theory of lemons, even if the practice of doing more than one continued to elude him.

“Right, that's it,” said Douglas as they drew close to one of the gates in the boards. “Enough. I can tell you're itching to stretch your legs and have a proper go. I'll go and get in the hot chocolates and have a sit down.”

The hire skates were predictably uncomfortable but they had just enough edge to trigger some long-abandoned muscle memory. He was taller and with bigger feet than the last time he'd done this, but it took just a couple of laps of plain stroking to find the familiar rhythm of rising and falling in the knee. Russian stroking felt even better, snaking around the rink on great curving edges.

The repetitive steps of the novice foxtrot came back easily enough, but after that he was stumped. How did the Rhythm Blues go?

“You waltz, yes?” The question came from a young woman who had skated up alongside him. “The Dutch waltz. I saw you dancing. They are about to put on the music for Marc and Anya.” She indicated a sequinned couple standing ready to attempt to dance through the crowds.

“I can try,” offered Martin. “It's been a while.”

It was more pleasant than he'd remembered actually, skating in hold. Perhaps because he was no longer an awkward, self-conscious 11-year-old whose sister hissed encouraging things like, stand up straight, idiot, it's bad enough that you're shorter than me as it is into his ear just as a difficult choctaw was coming up.

Of course, he was now an awkward, self-conscious 32-year-old in hire skates and barely certain of the simple pattern he was skating, so however pleasant the experience might be, he was also more than a bit relieved when it was over and she was thanking him and he hadn't managed to trip them both up.

He stroked over to his fellow pilot, who was standing near the gate holding two hot chocolates. “I thought you said skating didn't come in handy for much,” said Douglas staring at the perky blonde woman in a tiny skating skirt that Martin had been skating with, now performing a well-centred layback spin. “One more quick lap before I take these wretched things off?”

He perched the hot chocolates on a ledge already packed with other skaters' energy drinks bottles and paper coffee cups, and stepped onto the ice, a very different sight to the wobbly Douglas of less than an hour earlier. Martin couldn't help feeling a small pang of regret, that he knew very well was petty. For a brief, shining moment there had been something Douglas was actually bad at. Not even just average-for-a-beginner bad, but properly useless.

Now as he shuffled along at Martin's side, making reasonable pace with small pushes and two foot glides, he was on a par with most of the obvious first-time skaters in the arena. Given a few more hours of effort he'd probably be fine with curves and backwards skating. Absurd as it was, Martin felt rather jealous of Douglas' progress.

“I won't say this often Martin,” said Douglas. “But frankly, you're a marvel.”

“I'm not that good, really. I liked learning the compulsory dances because they're technical and there's a correct procedure to follow each time. But I never could spin properly because of my ears, so I couldn't even partner Caitlin for free dance.”

“I didn't mean the skating Martin, weirdly impressive though it is,” said Douglas. “I meant the teaching. I really couldn't have done this without you. Now let's call it a night. It's snowing outside, which means that tomorrow, I get to teach you some tricks about icy take-offs.”


End file.
